Why I Hate Blair Waldorf
by nondescript name
Summary: …and why I can’t stop thinking about her. BC, one shot. Angst but with sweet moments! R and R!


**A/N:** A little one shot. Inspired by liddle.girl.lucy's lists (I love her stories!). Chuck's POV (the first time I'm trying it; third person is fun, but being Chuck must be like fun on steroids). Set after Blair and Chuck stopped their affair.

Btw, little fact, while I was writing this, Word wanted me to change the word "maid" to "house cleaner". Lol, love ya Microsoft.

And I know it's cheesy and OOC, I'm sorry, I can't resist with Blair and Chuck XD.

**Why I Hate Blair Waldorf**

This should be easy to come up with. Blair Waldorf. She gets everything she wants, but gets nothing she needs. She's one of the biggest bitches I've ever met, and a tease to boot. Yeah, this list is going be easier to do than a drunk virgin.

And yet, I've come up with nothing.

The maid (God, what is her name?) said this would make me feel better about myself. What the hell does she know? She looks like the type of girl who would do this after a break up to reassure she's a worthwhile person.

Ugh. I've sunk that low.

Blair would never do this. Actually, she would, but she would never say she did. She's always ashamed of herself: her body, her life. Hmm.

_1) She's so flawed she's perfect._

Wait. What? So flawed she's perfect? I thought I've gotten rid of my buzz hours ago. Blair Waldorf is the opposite of perfect. Well, her mind is anyway. Her face, her body, her…that's a whole other story.

Sometimes when I'm with another girl, I think I'm with Blair. Actually, I often do. I imagine the 300 tanned skin I'm touching is really Blair's, creamy pale, smooth to the touch. I imagine the trailer trash blonde hair is really Blair's, thick and chocolate, it made her giggle (or whimper, depending on how far we were) when I ran my hands through it. I imagine the fake, tainted body is actually Blair's, authentic and pure, waiting for that special someone.

What I can't imagine, however, is how the girls acted. Blair would be so in control, yet act helpless. Every time we were together, for one moment, just one split second, Blair made me feel like I was first in her heart.

No. Don't think about it. You hate her. Hell, that's the reason for this list.

Even with my scolding, my thoughts drift back to our nights together. One time, after the act, I got up and walked around the apartment. Blair had fallen asleep. I stopped and looked at our clothes, draped on the floor. Mine were in an unorganized, rushed pile. I noticed Blair's clothes were arranged differently. Her shoes, taken off at the same time were lying sideways. Her pants, folded daintily. Her bra, as if embarrassed, was almost covered completely by her shirt. Blair had put her panties back on to sleep, like I have put my boxers on.

God. How can I remember this?

_2) She has a power over me._

I wrote this by instinct, dismayed. I analyzed my letters. I want to deny it, erase it, and never think this horrid sentence again. But it's true. Blair is the only person who has the upper hand. Of course, my father does, but if my trust fund wasn't at stake, I wouldn't give a crap what he said.

As I admitted this, I ask myself why. Why does Blair Waldorf have power over me? Why does she control my actions? Why is she so special?

I start answering with reasons.

_3) She wanted me for a little while, and got me._

_4) She doesn't want me now._

_5) She's the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, and probably always will be._

_6) She always stayed the nights, and I always wished she would never leave._

_7) She would laugh genuinely at my jokes._

_8) She would whisper in my ear, and I would feel her smile._

_9) She would stare into my eyes the whole time._

_10) She made me feel like a different person._

_11) She didn't want anyone find out about us, and I still wonder why, because..._

_12) She was happy with me._

By the time I'm finished, the paper is stained with tear drops. I feel like speaking, saying something I sworn I would never utter. I can't, I don't feel this way, it's a lie. I clear my throat hoarsely and whisper so low only I can hear:

"I love her."


End file.
